


Trust

by GillianInOz



Series: Bend But Do Not Break [2]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 09:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillianInOz/pseuds/GillianInOz
Summary: A year after the brutal attack, Morse still only has one person in his life he trusts. Thursday.





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> A warning about some of Fred Thursday’s personal views here. He’s a great man, and I love him dearly, but he’s still a product of his times, and some of his thinking might reflect that.
> 
> Also a trigger warning about a rape survivor seeking physical comfort with a trusted friend.

_Bend, but do not break._  
_Fall, but do not stay on the ground._  
_Feel the pain, but do not stay in pain._  
_Be sad, but do not make sadness your home._  
_When the weight is too heavy, build the strength to carry it._  
_When the fall is too deep, build the courage to get back up._  
_When the pain is too painful, feel it and walk it out of you._  
_When sadness overwhelms you, remember that the deeper that sadness digs into_ _your soul, the more happiness your soul is able to contain._  
_Stand strong in the face of your struggles._  
_Do not give up._  
_Do not give in._  
_What drags you down is only beneath you._  
_Remember that._  
_– Najwa_

 

“So,” Thursday said companionably. “You seeing anyone?”

Morse shrugged, fiddling with his glass before taking a small sip. He didn’t seem to be enjoying the liquor at all, he grimaced as it went down.

“I know it can be hard to meet people, in this job,” Thursday said. “But what about at those concerts you go to? Or your choir? Surely there’s a likely lass there you could ask out? Happen you’d have something in common with her, which is always a good way to start.”

Morse shrugged again. “I prefer to be alone. I can’t seem to work up any enthusiasm for dating these days.”

These days, Thursday thought. Nearly a year later. “Have you… since it happened?” he asked quietly. 

Morse stiffened. “Have I what?”

Thursday slanted him a glance over his pipe stem, and Morse’s moment of indignation slipped away. He slumped a little in his chair. 

“No. I’ve tried,” he confessed. “Even got so far as the bed with one. But I couldn’t…”

“An equipment problem?” Thursday asked delicately, and Morse raised an eyebrow and half chuckled.

“That was the least of it. The ‘equipment’,” he said mockingly, “works well enough when it’s just me and my right hand.” His cheeks flushed up a little under his habitual pallor.

Thursday nodded, half smiling himself.

“It’s my head that’s the problem.”

“Usually is, with you,” Thursday said teasingly.

“It just gets to be too much,” Morse admitted. “It takes a lot of trust to be that intimate with someone, and I find I don’t have that trust in me any more.” He took another sip, this one seeming to go down more easily. “Sex was always one of the things that came easily to me, one of the things I was most confident about. Before.”

Until those bastards took that away from you too, Thursday thought bleakly. 

“Sir,?” Morse said, breaking the long silence of his little bedsit. “Did you ever… “Those men, at Witney. They called me a queer. Did you ever think that about me?”

Thursday frowned at the question. “Pay no mind to what those bastards said, Morse. They didn’t attack you because they thought you were queer, they attacked you because they could. Because the cowards at that nick turned a blind eye to their evil deeds, until they thought they could get away with anything.”

“They saw something in me.”

“They saw a vulnerable young man,” Thursday insisted. “No friends, no family, no influence to speak of. To be blunt they saw a pretty young lad and they used you for their own vile sport. That’s it and all about it.”

Morse stared at him from across the room, eyes wide and luminous. “No,” he corrected. “They saw something in me.”

Thursday stared back, nonplussed. Was Morse saying what he thought he was? “I’ve seen you with girls,” he ventured slowly. “Pretty ones too. You don’t lie well enough to have been faking that.”

“I like girls,” Morse said. “But I like men too, I always have.”

“Oh,” Thursday said, absorbing that. “All right. You hide it well.”

Morse sent him a frank look. “You learn to.”

“I imagine you do,” Thursday said, still trying to wrap his head around it. As a copper he’d run across queers during his career, from all walks of life. He knew enough to know they were as varied as normal men, they could be flaming and arch, or big men with wide shoulders and rough hands. Oxford was a city of intellectuals and atheists, and it could be hard to tell the difference between the drawling effete accents of the upper class and the affectations of a poof. 

But it was hard to reconcile that Morse played any part in that kind of life. Although when he thought about it, the habits of solitude, the reticence about his private life, his square peg attitude. Didn’t that make sense for a man who didn’t quite fit into society?

Still. Morse? Hanging around public conveniences or dark walks, looking to hook up with strange men? It didn’t sit well with Thursday, it didn’t sit well with him at all.

Morse tilted his head curiously. “You’re judging me,” he observed.

Thursday flushed a little and busied himself puffing the dying embers in his tobacco bowl back to life. “Not judging,” he lied gruffly. “Just… absorbing.”

Morse smiled, leaning back in his chair and looking more relaxed than Thursday had seen him all evening. “It’s all right,” he said. “Truth is I was never much better at being bent than I was at being straight. Relationship wise, anyway.” He shrugged. “Sex was never the problem though. Sex was easy, and I used to be good at it. Confident. A way to touch and be touched that… escapes me in every day life. I suppose I do miss that, a bit.”

Thursday took that in, feeling his clenched guts relaxing a bit. Put that way, it didn’t seem so very terrible. And this was Morse, who’d sparked some protective instinct in Fred almost from day one. Morse hadn’t really changed just because Thursday had learned something new about him.

“Bet you didn’t expect to be my confessor tonight,” Morse teased, and Thursday sensed he was trying to lighten the mood, let him off the hook, shut the conversation down. Perversely Thursday decided he wasn’t going to let this go.

“I don’t mind,” he said, surprised to find he was being honest. “It’s the most you’ve ever talked to me.”

“Surely not,” Morse said, his mouth turning down. “I still can’t believe all the things I said to you that night. It was the last thing I meant to do.”

“Like lancing a festering wound,” Thursday said, remembering the horror and grief of that night of revelation and confirmation of his worst fears. “But, messy and painful as it is, that poison’s got to be drawn out somehow. I hated to hear what you’d been through, but I’m glad I could be there to help you drain that poison.”

Morse stared at him for long moments, then his lean cheeks relaxed into a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“There’s nothing you can’t tell me, Morse.”

“I think I’ve proved that already tonight, sir.”

“And I won’t judge you,” Thursday promised. “Or at least I’ll try not to. Can’t say fairer than that. Another?”

He drained the dregs of his glass and poured in another measure, leaning across the table to add an inch to Morse’s proffered glass. They both sipped in silence for a few minutes.

“And what I said before still stands,” Thursday said. “Those bastards didn’t see a damn thing in you except a potential victim. Your… well, your private life… It had nothing to do with their brutality. That’s like saying you deserved it, or asked for it somehow, just by being who you are. And that’s a heap of shit.”

Morse tilted his head, frowning a little. “I suppose.”

They drank in a companionable silence.

“So,” Thursday said. “How did you figure it out? That you, uh, batted from both ends?”

Morse smiled into his glass. “It’s not something you figure out. It’s something you are. It’s easy really, at college. You seem to find each other, when you need to. In the army too.”

Thursday raised a brow at that, and then grudgingly acknowledged it with a nod. “It goes on,” he admits. “Some, I think, just find comfort in it. It’s not their natural state of being.”

Morse snorted. “Rubbish,” he said succinctly. “If a man can find that comfort in another man, then it’s a part of him, whether he wants it to be or not. We tell reassuring lies about men in the forces, or in prisons. That it’s just a release until they can get out and find a willing girl. But that’s all it is, a lie, because some men don’t want to admit that something like that is in their nature.”

Thursday wasn’t sure he agreed. He’d been as young and full of juice as the next fellow, and although he had never been tempted to slip behind the barracks late at night, or hang around the loos waiting for a helping hand, he knew blokes that had given into that temptation, and he didn’t think that made them queer. 

“So,” he said tentatively. “You haven’t been able to… find comfort with a man either?”

Morse shook his head. “If it’s hard to trust a woman, how much harder to trust a man?”

“What about one of your old pals from college?”

Morse bent his head back over the seat, stretching his legs before him. “Not sure I’d trust any of them either, these days. People change. No, I’m better off alone.”

Thursday felt a tide of grief in his heart over the defeated tone of Morse’s voice. The old hatred in his guts for the bastards who’d so ill used this young lad was churning within him again, and he had to remind himself that they were dead and buried. Unmourned by anyone, even their wives and kids, who were no doubt as glad as anyone to see them underground, along with the shame and scandal they’d brought to their families.

“Anyway,” Morse was saying. “It was never men my own age that really appealed to me. With women I seem to find the broken and vulnerable, there’s something in me that’s just drawn to them.”

“That way lies heartbreak,” Thursday said wisely.

“But with men it’s the older ones,” Morse mused, as if to himself. “With gentle hands and kind eyes. They always seem so grateful to be with a younger man, so sweet. I craved that, when I was younger.”

“Reckon a head shrinker would have a field day with that,” Thursday observed around his pipe, and Morse blinked at him and then gave a crack of laughter. 

“Oh, lord,” he chuckled. “I reckon he would.”

“They say men marry their mothers,” Thursday observed. “Maybe you were looking for a father figure?”

Morse sobered, the smile falling off his face. “My father was never kind,” he said, his voice hard. 

“Looking for the kindness he didn’t give you then,” Thursday said sadly. He couldn’t understand a man who wouldn’t be proud of a son like Morse. He couldn’t forgive a man who so undervalued his own lad that he put that grim expression on Morse’s face. “Do you trust me?” he said impulsively.

Morse blinked in surprise. “Of course, sir.”

Fred laid down his glass and stood, lifting one hand and proffering it to Morse. Morse studied his hand for a moment, but finally put his own hand in it and stood up.

“Sir?” he said, curiously.

“Can I kiss you?” Thursday asked.

Morse’s hand jerked in his, but it didn’t pull away. “What?”

“Can I kiss you? Will you let me?”

“Why?” Morse said. They were standing close, by the scarred old wooden table, bathed in the soft glow of electric lamps. Only their hands were touching, but Thursday felt the warmth of Morse’s smooth, lean fingers, warming his own hand. 

“Because I’m a man old enough to be your father, with gentle hands, and, I hope, kind eyes,” Thursday said softly. “A man you can trust. Always.”

Morse swallowed, but his hand still clung to Thursday’s, fingers trembling now in his loose grasp. 

“So?” Thursday breathed, and Morse’s eyes fell to his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

And Morse nodded.

Thursday leaned forward and gently pressed a soft, slanted kiss to Morse’s dry lips. He leaned into it, just a little, feeling the unfamiliar rasp of fine whiskers against his own cheeks. 

When he drew back Morse had his eyes closed, and Thursday watched anxiously until he opened them, the lashes fluttering as if his eyelids were weighted down.

“All right?” Thursday asked, and Morse nodded, his eyes so wide and luminous they seemed to swallow his whole face. “Can I kiss you again?” Thursday asked, needing a verbal confirmation that his attentions weren’t merely being endured.

“Yes,” Morse said, his voice thick.

This time Thursday pressed the kiss a little deeper, running his tongue along the seam of Morse’s wide, mobile mouth, feeling an odd thrum in his own belly as Morse’s tongue tip briefly met his own.

Thursday pulled back again, and again waited for Morse’s heavy lids to lift. His eyes were still wide and shining, but there was a cautious spark in them now, a kind of stunned pleasure that again echoed in Thursday’s belly. He clamped down on that unexpected hum, this wasn’t about him, this was about Morse, and leading him to the pleasure that evil men had stolen from him.

“Again?” Thursday whispered, and this time Morse was nodding as he leaned to meet the kiss, and there was nothing tentative about the desperate tongue that entwined with his own, the strong young hands that clutched at the lapels of his jacket. 

The kiss was deep with an edge of desperation to it, their heads twisted, their hands clutched, briefly they pulled back a fraction of an inch to release a panting breath, and then leaned into another long, frantic kiss.

“Sir,” Morse moaned, and Thursday felt with a shock of gratification the hardness against his thigh, as Morse panted and trembled against him.

“It’s all right,” Fred crooned, running his hands down Morse’s lean back, soothing and gentling him like he would a fractious horse. “You’re all right, I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he said, letting the young man rock against the strength of his thigh, widening his stance to facilitate his movements.

“Here,” he said, gently tugging Morse back and steering him by the arm. “On the bed, eh? Get a bit more comfortable.”

Morse more fell than sat back on the bed, but he grabbed Thursday’s arm as he sat down beside him, some of his ardour seeming to cool. “Don’t hold me down,” he pleaded, and Thursday cupped his lean cheek and pressed a soft kiss to its flushed warmth.

“I won’t,” he swore, “Trust me, lad. Lay back, I’ll see you right.”

Morse lay back and Thursday wasted no time in laying next to him, making sure none of his weight rested on the younger man’s too thin form. He stroked Morse’s tumbled russet curls back from his sweaty forehead, and smiled down into his shining eyes.

“All right?” he asked tenderly, and Morse’s eyes welled a little with tears. 

“Please don’t stop,” he begged, and Thursday pressed a brief kiss to trembling lips, wishing this beautiful, damaged young man didn’t have to beg for something so freely given.

“If I do anything you don’t like,” Thursday said firmly. “You just tell me to stop and I will. Understand, Morse?”

Morse nodded, but Fred shook his head and stroked back those tangled waves again. “I need to hear you say it, lad,” he murmured. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You could never,” Morse said brokenly. “You would never. Please, sir. Please don’t stop.”

Thursday smiled into drenched eyes, then gently kissed each one closed, before once more finding Morse’s lips. The kiss began languid and sweet, but soon became frantic again as Morse clutched at him and moaned, his whole body taut and quivering.

Following his instincts, Fred made short work of Morse’s belt and flies, and without further ado he slid his hand over Morse’s heaving, flat belly, and found the root of his sturdy cock.

Morse, mewled and bucked, fucking up into Thursday’s confident grasp, and Fred bent back down to his lips and swallowed the moans as his practised hand jerked Morse’s quivering length. A firm grip up, milking the tender head, then a stroke back down. Once, twice, a third time. Denied another human being’s touch for nearly a year, Morse came swiftly, and with a cry of completion into Thursday’s mouth that seemed to reverberate into his very soul.

Panting breaths now as Thursday coaxed the last, soft spurts of pleasure from Morse’s half hard cock, then stroked the moisture up onto his lean belly under his vest.

Satisfaction thrummed through Thursday, unlike anything he’d ever known. He was hard behind his flies, but that meant nothing, this had never been about his needs, although he was still somewhat stunned he’d taken so much enjoyment in the act.

This had been about giving something to Morse, and indeed, Morse’s face was slack with pleasure, a soft smile around his kiss-bruised lips, his hands laying lax by his sides. 

Thursday shifted to one elbow and ran his eyes down Morse’s lean form, satisfaction, contentment, and wonder moving through him. 

“All right, Morse?” he asked gently, and was answered by a kind of humming affirmative. Morse opened his eyes and looked at him, stunned bliss still lighting them from within.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he said bemusedly.

Thursday collapsed back on the pillow with a huffing laugh, rubbing his hand on the sheet ruefully. “I didn’t exactly plan it myself,” he admitted.

Morse propped himself up on his elbow and Thursday remembered a little enviously having graceful young limbs himself once, as Morse bonelessly sprawled next to him. 

The younger man looked at him for a long time, and Thursday wondered what he was seeing. A rumpled old man with his hair in his eyes? A man who’d never been more than pleasantly plain even when his cheeks had been smooth and his skin not marked with age? Someone who’d taken advantage of a friend’s pain to take liberties?

Thursday met Morse’s regard fearlessly, but before he could speak Morse reached out with one hand and carefully stroked back a wing of greying hair with his long sensitive fingers.

Something moved in Fred’s chest, in his heart, as Morse, eyes as focused on his task as he was on the most complex case, carefully stroked the other wing of hair back, gently carding through the iron and steel coloured strands. Thursday seemed to feel the touch to his very soul.

“Thank you, sir,” Morse said, a gentle smile playing around his kiss swollen lips.

Speechless, Thursday accepted the soft kiss on his own sensitive lips, before Morse relaxed against his side, leaned his forehead on Thursday’s shoulder. And instantly fell asleep.

888

Fred quietly let himself out of the bedsit, turning one last time in the doorway to look at the sleeping form of the young man who had somehow touched his heart from the very first. Now his old heart ached a little at this parting, knowing he was leaving these unexpected, intimate moments behind him forever. That he had to.

There was no guilt in Fred’s heart over the impulsive choice he’d made tonight, he’d followed his instincts and he stood by them now. There was so much he’d promised Morse that he couldn’t deliver, so much Morse needed that he could never give him. But he could give him this. Open that door back up to intimacy and trust. Maybe begin the process of Morse freeing himself from the cage of loneliness and isolation he’d been trapped in since his violent assault.

Thursday didn’t feel as if he’d betrayed his vows, as he would have if he’d been with a woman. This didn’t touch his marriage, his life with Win. This was men’s business, a mate helping another mate in need. The fact that something in Fred had been stirred…

Well. That was the price he had to pay, and he’d pay it willingly. 

Thursday set his hat on his head, and with a clear, if a slightly aching heart, quietly closed the door and walked back out into the night towards home.


End file.
